


full moon rising.

by adamantwrites



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (light ABO really), A/B/O, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, zutara exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantwrites/pseuds/adamantwrites
Summary: His mother’s fairy tales told of the first, running from the wasteland at the top of the world across the water and the land and the ice in the south, all to rescue a lover stolen from him. From his father of all demons, he knew the truer history: packs that once roamed the poles, shifting from wolf to human and back again.





	full moon rising.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [airiustide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/airiustide/gifts).



> My darling Juel, it was such a pleasure writing this for you, and I know I teased you with snippets as I wrote, but most of what you read will be a surprise. I hope you like what I did with your requests for mythology and an arranged marriage!
> 
> Warnings: A/B/O themes, and while it’s not explicit, it toes the line of maturity with much implying.

The ship arrived with the second hightide as expected, harsh steel glistening in the rare Southern sunlight. The benders lining the docks guided her in slowly, tethering the Fire Nation monstrosity in place. Steam hissed from her belly, signalling the release of the gangway. 

 

Hakoda watched it curl into the sky until he could no longer, his stomach turning nervously as boots thudded down metal, then crunched through fresh snow. 

 

“My Lord,” he greeted the young man with a bow, fist to his palm as was customary in Zuko’s nation. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

 

In answer, Zuko pressed his hands together, then bent his head until his brow touched his fingertips, honoring the Tribe’s leader.

 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you any sooner, Chief Hakoda.” 

 

The formality; it grated him.

 

In any other circumstance, the man would wave it off, tell his son and daughter’s best friend to straighten up, cut it out with such niceties. In this circumstance, which his breakfast threatening an appearance in the snow and his concern for Katara surmounting nearly every thought, Hakoda prayed the Fire Lord knew he could refuse him.

 

“Please.” Licking his lips — a nervous tick unusual for him — Hakoda motioned Zuko along. “I have a fire waiting for us.”

* * *

 

“You’ll have to forgive my impertinence, Chieftain, but I know you didn’t call for me to sit in your hut and drink.”

 

Zuko lifted his chin to eye the man, chasing the air’s tension with another sip from his glass. Usually, he felt at ease in Hakoda’s presence. Usually, the pair could chat for hours, whether on Zuko’s own veranda in the company of Sokka and Katara or in the cozy homes the Water Tribe boasted. He knew nothing but peace here, settled in blue-dyed furs and rich parkas. 

 

But something about this was horribly _unusual._

 

To begin, Katara was nowhere in sight. In fact, any mention of her was danced around, with Hakoda pouring himself another shot of the Tribe’s burning moonshine and throwaway comments about the late-season snow. Sokka hadn’t made himself known either. Hakoda suggested he was with his sister, only to look away, staring into the flames and shifting in his seat.

 

On top of it all, the Chief still ignored his probing. He fidgeted with his glass, the ice tinkling across the bottom, then offed the contents with a heavy sigh. 

 

“Have you heard of _tatkresiwok?_ ” he asked, setting his finished drink aside. “Have any of your Southern studies brought up the term?” 

 

Zuko’s expression furrowed. “ _Tatkresi_ — No. No, I’m afraid I haven’t. What is it?” 

 

A loud breath followed, Hakoda’s lungs full of so much air Zuko feared he’d burst from it, and in the same instant, the Chief shrunk in his chair. 

 

“This does not leave the room.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Not your uncle, not your sister; outside of my home, outside of Katara, Sokka, and Kanna, this does not exist. I know you are the Fire Lord, but I am not afraid to make demands of you.” 

 

“I swear,” he whispered. “No one.” 

 

His breath became the only noticeable sound, punctuated every now and then by the fire popping. A log cracked, making Zuko flinch, while Hakoda remained stony and calm, simply watching him. 

 

“My bloodline is ancient. It’s the reason I’m chief, the reason Sokka will follow after me,” he began, shifting his focus to the patterns woven into his belt; wolves and men and moons. Symbols of their family, Katara had once told him.

 

“We do not vote for leadership like the Northerners do. We do not fight for it like the clans in the Earth Kingdom do. My tribe has twelve smaller groups, a council of twelve leaders that preside over them. Above the Council, stands the _amarok.”_

 

Zuko fought the urge to gasp. That term he had heard: a monster of a wolf from Water Tribe legends, a blend of humanity and animosity. 

 

His mother’s fairy tales told of the first, running from the wasteland at the top of the world across the water and the land and the ice in the south, all to rescue a lover stolen from him. From his father of all demons, he knew the truer history: packs that once roamed the poles, shifting from wolf to human and back again.  In more recent years, the _amarok_ had all but blended in with the Tribesmen, but seeing them as a threat to the Royal family’s dragon lineage, Azulon set bounties for them, ending the race entirely. 

 

Perhaps, it was another lie his uncle created, the same as he did to protect the true dragons.

 

“Your family has similar mythology, does it not?

 

“ _Nihon no ryuu._ Dragon riders.” He adjusted his grip on his glass, wondering if he should match Hakoda’s pace and down another. “Roku and Sozin were the last before me, and any riders will experience  _yūhi_ , which is _supposed_ to prompt procreation, but you can get through it with the proper supplies and your—” 

 

Zuko caught the man staring at him and curled his fingers into a fist, dropping his hand. Heat crawled up his cheeks. 

 

“I didn’t present until I reached my twenties, and it’s only been Druk and I at the palace since Katara left.”

 

“Twenty? A little late.”

 

His blush deepened. “The medical opinion is that three years of starvation and stress on a ship didn’t help.” 

 

“I meant no offense, I only—” Hakoda cut off with a hard swallow, chasing it with the melted ice and remnants of liquor in his glass. Scrubbing his face with his free hand, he sighed. “My daughter is twenty-five.” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“The medical opinion is that fourteen years of starvation and stress in a war-wrecked village didn’t help.” 

 

Zuko’s eyes widened, so much the scar tissue around the left hurt. “She—”

 

“She is,” Hakoda said, and for once, the man was straightforward and quick about it. _“Tatkresiwok_ is… it’s like  _yūhi_ , but she won’t survive it. I should’ve seen the signs, the first symptoms of the fever. I should’ve made her a match, as I was for her mother, but I didn’t. The oldest laws have her now, the ones that govern the _amarok._ She needs an alpha, or she’ll lose her mind.” 

 

“There’s no one here?”  

 

“Not here in her Tribe, no.” 

 

Hakoda bent forward slowly, set his elbows on his knees. The deliberation in his movements made Zuko squirm, like everything he did, everything he said was being assessed in this judgement for his worthiness.

 

“You can say no. You can go home.” 

 

“We both know I can’t.” 

* * *

 

The landscape surrounding Katara’s private home was fathomless. With the city walls nowhere to be seen, and flat, snowy plains stretching out endlessly, the wind howled wildly, biting at Sokka’s cheeks. 

 

He waited, pacing urgently outside the small, secluded hut. If any part of his plan worked, Zuko would be there soon. He _had_ to be; there were no other options. So, he paced. And paced. And stuffed his hands under his armpits as the morning turned to afternoon. Maybe Zuko wouldn’t come. Maybe he said no. The idea terrified him, but Zuko didn’t owe this to Katara. It was a tremendous thing to ask.

 

Sokka swept the horizon once again, a breath trapped in his chest. It exploded with a relieved laugh when he spotted the incoming sled. 

 

“You came!” he shouted. 

 

Zuko shuffled from the seat, shaking Hakoda’s hand. In the other, he held a satchel at his side. He slung it up on his shoulder and wrapped his cloak closer. 

 

“How is she?” 

 

Sokka hesitated before he answered, haunted. “She’s different. Still very much Katara, but… there are moments it’s something else wearing Katara’s skin.” 

 

“She’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it,” Zuko said. After a beat, he asked, “How are you?” 

 

“I’m—” The warrior shrugged. There was a sense of urgency in his blood; it’d been there for days now, creeping higher and higher as doubt crowded. “I’m glad you're here.”

 

Zuko clapped him on the shoulder, no response given. They traded places on the path, and the Fire Lord watched the smoke puffing from the hut.

 

“It’s quiet. Katara likes it pretty warm inside.” As if that made the entire situation easy, Sokka nudged him towards the door. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on you. Just… whatever you do, don’t tell her writing you was my idea.” 

 

A grin split his lips at Zuko’s astonished sound. He waved, then jogged towards the waiting sled.

* * *

 

He stood just inside her door and that was infuriating.

 

_Gods above._

 

Of course, he waited, doing what he believed to be the honorable thing by studying the small room instead of crowding her immediately. Everyone else refused to leave her alone. Zuko? He found interest in the decor, as if her lungs didn’t scream in her chest the second they filled with him.

 

There was a hearth to his left, flickering with a dying fire. A small sink and stove and table sat off to his right, hardly touched. On the colorful, woven rug at the room’s center was a collection of whatever had been brought to bed with her. There were clothes and strewn shoes, forgotten pillows and the random book, all discarded when the fever took her. The bed itself stood in front him, strides from where he stood. It boasted of disaster and desperation, pillows framing her in the middle of it, a blanket curled around her bare shoulder. 

 

It was only then that his eyes met her, nothing but calm gold contained in them. 

 

Katara exhaled with a sense of ease, sank from her knees to her haunches. He knew this chaos. He’d been through _yūhi_ alone, far too polite to ask anyone when he had his hand and weeks of privacy in his room. Word traveled fast across the four kingdoms. She knew he’d come through a wreck, but that was good. He understood the disaster she was.

 

But _, tatkresiwok_ was far more dangerous that he knew— solitude drove her mad; any bond would last. She couldn’t go it alone. The only alpha from her Tribe she'd even allow around her home was as far off as the Earth Kingdom with his daughter, had been for months now, and Katara refused just anyone. 

 

Knowing her father worried for her wellbeing, knowing her brother would sort out the best solution, she half expected Zuko to make an appearance. The Royal Family had a bloodline like her own, after all, descending right from the dragons. 

 

And he fucking stood there, studying her like she was something in Ba Sing Se’s zoo.

 

_Best_ was, after all, only Sokka’s opinion.

 

Unmoving, hardly blinking, Zuko looked statuesque, if only she didn’t know him so well. The tension in his jaw looked painful from her perspective, hands in fists at his sides. Katara wondered if his nails cut into his palms. How impossible would it be to battle her worst desires if the smell of his blood filled the room? It already sang through him, the rigid line of his body that would break if she so much as brushed him. He was fighting; fighting, and for now, he was winning.

 

She could try to push him. The heat begged her to—

 

Everything about her was unpredictable and unhesitating, erratic and energetic. If not her wide eyes and disheveled state, then the scent between her legs would do it. It permeated each individual molecule in air, clung to every single tangible thing surrounding them. It was overwhelming and warm, powerful and sweet. It could put any _nihon no ryuu_ right on the brink.  

 

—she’d lose to him, inevitably.

 

Katara snarled, flopping back in the center of the mess.

 

“Come to entertain me, then?” 

 

She heard a quiet laugh. “If you’ll have me.” 

 

“Do I have a choice?” 

 

All the men that’d vied her father for her hand as this went on, all the men that’d argued for the so-called privilege of bedding the last known _amarok_ in the South left her feeling there was little say in any of it. She required a mate. She was selfish not to choose one, and Zuko had sailed all this way. 

 

“With me, you always do.”

 

His reply was soft. With it, Katara sighed in relief. 

 

“Stay.” 

* * *

 

Neither said much after her permission to stay. She watched his every move, which proved wildly disconcerting, pinning him to every wall as he worked through the customary questions about her wellbeing. 

 

Zuko thought it ridiculous how he suddenly felt the need to tiptoe around her when their first meeting, first _real_ meeting saw her crying and him empathizing, something so foreign to him back then.  From the very beginning, he’d seen the hidden parts of her, accepted them as easily as every other facet of her person. From the very beginning, before he realized it, she’d been someone he loved with everything in him. 

 

With those memories at the forefront, this encounter was really no different. His purpose was to her, whatever she wanted; anything she needed. If tiptoeing was her wish, so be it.

 

He could understand her scrutiny, the discernment in her gaze. Throughout his own fevers, no one was trustworthy, hardly even Azula or Uncle. Katara was physically vulnerable and emotionally strung out, easily manipulated if the wrong person ventured in with malintent. She feared the same. That much was obvious in red-rimmed eyes. 

 

They were still so undeniably bright, like all the stars in the sky had been captured in blue depths. 

 

Zuko dumped his satchel on a writing table, collecting a few of the scattered garments on his way to the hearth. He folded the items and lay them on the stones close by, thinking she’d like something warm and dry. He kept from fidgeting by grabbing from the stack of chopped wood, which he arranged on top of the coals before blowing gentle to stoke the flames. 

 

“Too proud to firebend?” came her dry remark.

 

“This takes time. Or would you rather I sit and stare at you?” Zuko asked, turning his head with a smile.

 

She rolled to her stomach, feet up in the air and tapping at nothing. The blanket was gone. Only her hair shrouded her shoulders, a messy nest of brown curls to accentuate brown skin. It’d be adorable… if he weren’t incredibly aware of every naked inch. The slope of her back seemed an excellent place to kiss. 

 

He dumped another log on the fire. “I like having something to do with my hands.” 

 

“Mm.” Her hum was far more enticing than she surely meant. “As do I.” 

 

Zuko refused to look at her.

 

There was plenty to do as it was, plenty to distract him from her and the scent fluttering into the air when she tossed her hair and lay flat again. She at the blankets a few times, but stayed quiet.

 

With the time well behind midday, he emptied his satchel and rummaged through the food items. He’d rather avoid the sea prunes, but he had few options for anything fresh. Zuko poured broth into a pot and set it over the fire. He chopped carrots, onions, following Katara’s instruction to dice them, not slice, and added those to the soup with assorted spices. The prunes went in last, absorbing the aromatic liquids as they expanded, bobbing at the top. Zuko waited until it reached a boil, let it simmer, then dished them each a large helping.

 

“Hungry?” he prompted. 

 

She looked at the bowl in his hands, then up at him, one brow lifted. “Are you my mother? Here to ensure I keep up my strength?” 

 

“Are you purely antagonistic?”

 

As averse as he was to them, the prunes stunk enough that they overpowered the fever’s scent, setting it a notch below agonizing to stand at the side of her bed. He was, however, thankful to the heavens and back that she’d donned a robe for her supper. It granted him the ability to leave the soup in her hands and find a spot on the bed, all without a dream sequence of Katara inviting him into it. 

 

Zuko bounced a little as his weight settled into the mattress. 

 

“I’m in the South because your father requested I visit. I didn’t know why, not until my ship arrived,” he admitted, grimacing around the puckered skin of the first prune in his bowl. He forced it down, a less than amiable glare in her direction. “I’m _here_ because of you.” 

 

“To do what?”

 

“Whatever you need. To ease this for you. I know how hard the first fever can be.” 

 

“All of it’s hard! It’s different than _yūhi_. It’s different for _women._ ” Katara scowled. “It’s not fair, but this is… it’s not to be taken lightly, Zuko. Do you even know what you've walked into?” 

 

“I understand. _Tatkresiwok_ bonded your father and mother. It's how they had your brother, actually.”

 

She made a face. “That’s disgusting. I might've lived one hundred years and not known that.”

 

“What, are we five?” Zuko laughed, and it sparked the same from her, the lively bubble the first happy sound she’d made since his arrival. “He merely helped me understand the ramifications.” 

 

“I’m not sure I like that word. Ramifications.” Her eyes remained on him as she lifted her bowl, quietly swallowing a mouthful. Her lips glistened beautifully when she licked them. “The men who’ve talked to my father, to Sokka, even— they’re good men, Zuko. Strong, proud Water Tribe men from good families and good standing in our community. I’d be lucky to have any one of them.” 

 

“They’d be lucky to have you _._ ”

 

“That’s just it,” she insisted. “I don’t want luck. I don’t want what follows this to be treated like some sort of consequence, a bond to be broken or forced to be built upon.” 

 

Her attention dropped to her soup, the contents far more interesting than him. Or, it was they were easier to look at, easier to study than his face after such a confession. The blush kissing her dark skin was obvious, even in the wavering firelight. It matched the heat rising up the back of his neck, the longing to touch her, hold her, work through each and every one of her desires until she slept from sheer exhaustion. 

 

Zuko made no such move. He reached towards her, laying his hand on her bare foot, a comforting gesture that was quickly removed. 

 

“Whoever helps me will be the only one to ever help me, and I want that to be out of love. You and I put that to rest ten years ago, Zuko, the day you took the throne.” 

 

“That doesn’t mean I stopped.” 

 

He never had, but she was right. The pair of them had their reasons listed long ago, dozens of potential problems, each without a solution. They were a decade older now, wiser; _braver._ However, with the full moon rising behind her singular window, this was no time to rehash such things.

 

His soup finished, or rather, his body through with the odd bitterness to the prunes, Zuko placed his by the sink and returned as Katara gulped the last of it. 

 

“I was wrong before.” 

 

She tilted her head curiously. “What?” 

 

“When I said we’d struggle to find a place in this world, I was wrong.” 

* * *

 

Relationships couldn't be so easily decided.

 

She argued this for the better half of an hour, washing up dinner beside him. She had time before she became too incoherent to stand.  

 

They were a fickle things, and love was a meandering path, built after years and years together. It was careful, considerate. It was founded in patience, perseverance, and persistence. She watched it grow between her parents. Sokka could vouch for that, having been older and more aware of Hakoda and Kya’s bond deepening throughout their marriage. 

 

Perhaps, her anecdotes made little sense to him. The stories did nothing to persuade him, and most were met with a smile that made her insides coil and twist, like he had a thousands things to say, secrets he’d keep ‘til morning. She swallowed hard. 

 

The fever, Katara cautioned herself, leaving Zuko with the sudsy water to face the bed. He was too much to look at, too beautiful to withstand. 

 

Desire crawled up her skin, a radiating heat from the pit of her stomach. Her arms itched. Her neck had a splotchy look about it, the miscolording spreading down her chest. Too hot, too enclosed, too— If the agitation and energy counted as coherency during the day, the flush on her skin, the sweat, the _need_ counted as insanity. 

 

“The fever,” she announced, and her fingers fought with the knot on her robe. 

 

_Gods._ How she became a fumbling fool with him around.

 

Sensing her struggle, Zuko flicked most of the soap from his hands, both arms encircling her from the back. His body didn’t touch her, but his warmth did. She hardly kept upright when damp fingers covered hers, undoing the sash with a short tug. He pulled the robe from her shoulders, the feather light touch too much and not enough. 

 

Katara shivered when it pooled at her feet with a soft _hush,_ leaving her naked and flushed. 

 

“Better?” he asked, voice cut raw and raspy. His touch trailed down her spine, but that was all. He stepped back, returning to the dishes. 

 

She missed him already. She shouldn’t miss him at all.

 

“Leave. Go home.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Please, I’m fine.”

 

Did she fear him? Katara considered the prospect.

 

No, that wasn’t it. She couldn’t be seen like this, not by him. All his talk of love, his insistence that it bloomed like a flower in spring and never died for him, that he’d fight for them— her battle with the robe was pathetic enough. His mind would change if he witnessed the rest of it.

 

Spinning around, she meant to push him out, but Zuko captured her hands. He held them tight in his, up to his lips as she fussed.

 

“Zuko…” 

 

“I’m pulling rank, waterbender.” 

 

She huffed. “We both know you’d answer to me, Fire Lord Zuko.” 

 

“Fine. This is the one instance in which I won’t be listening.” A delicate kiss met each fingertip. She counted all ten, letting Zuko lay her down on the bed. “I know you’re strong, Kat, but you don’t have to be.” 

 

Her throat constricted when he kissed her forehead, delicately brushing her hair away from her cheeks. He arranged the pillows too, tucked the blankets around her frame into a cozy nest. Zuko talked about his mother as he did, which initially seemed odd considering the heat sparking in her veins. In retrospect, it was soothing; not so much the story, but his voice. 

 

She listened through a distant state, memorizing the low vibrato, the rasp when he laughed. Zuko worked while he monologued, a constant flutter of thoughtful activity. 

 

He kept the temperature perfect in the room, managing to settle her more in a handful of minutes than she’d been any night prior, too hot or too cold; too lonely. He finished the dishes and dried his hands, lotion from his satchel filling the room with the light fragrance of pomegranates. He arranged her books neatly on the writing table, folded the rest of her clothes and piled them in her chest. Cleanliness brought clarity, the clarity allowed her to focus—

 

on a wild-eyed and breathless man. There was _hunger_ about him.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Zuko grit his teeth before answering. “My family are not _amarok_ , but I’m not immune to you, Katara.” 

 

All this time fretting over the possibility of his disgust, she never worried for the opposite. Amber eyes glimmered in the firelight. His skin had a pallor to it, making his cheeks appear sunken, his lips bright and red. Each breath was labored. Every movement controlled, jaw clenching if she so much as stirred within her nest.

 

The threat of him shattering made her whimper. 

 

And, want for him.

 

“Take what you need, then,” she challenged, hating herself for the way her thighs pressed together. 

 

“I won’t touch you unless you truly ask.” He exhaled quietly, looking down at his feet. “I want your soft surrender, Katara, not your begrudging permission because you’re worried I’m suffering. Test me all you like, if that’s what makes you feel safe.” 

 

A sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, Katara snapped her mouth shut. She hadn’t planned on an offer so sweet, and response that made her feel small and so submissive. 

 

The stupid man. Love; she wanted— love was surrender, after all. _How stupid._

 

She rolled onto her side, refusing him.

 

Seeing how the conversation was all but through, Zuko plucked a book from her collection and sat in front of the fire. Katara writhed deeper into the blankets, feeling her way to the wet heat between her legs, a moan barely suppressed. 

 

He didn’t look; she knew he wouldn’t. Too respectful, too decent. She worked herself up and up and up and thought of nothing but how good it would feel if her fingers were replaced by his. Zuko exhaled through his nose when she gasped, the orgasm coming hard and fast. But he never moved from his spot at her hearth, never even glanced in her direction. 

 

Stupid, impossible, honorable _dragon!_

 

Katara swallowed the stinging rejection. His resolve was her fault.

* * *

 

Fortunately, the fever spiked, carrying her off into the night.

 

Her dreams were fitful; her nightmares, worse. A dragon landed and washed her in fire. A wolf stood in the distance and watched. 

 

Katara woke with a start, calmed only by a sleepy kiss down her neck. She wrapped her fingers in his shirt, lips over his heartbeat. The steady thump pulled her back into the dreams. 

 

Thereafter, the dragon wrapped around her, his fire no longer licking at her skin. 

* * *

 

“How did you survive _yūhi?_ The first?” she asked, words muffled where her lips tickled in his neck. 

 

“I’m not sure all of me did.” 

 

A bit morbid, but it was true. He remembered the end, remembered feeling oddly hallow when he left his room, like some part of his soul was missing. Lonely.

 

Zuko smiled over her head, happy to have her wrapped around him every morning. He trailed a hand down her back, drawing goosebumps on her bare skin before settling his arm in the sway of her hip. The other served as a pillow, trapped beneath her half-asleep questioning and piles of wild curls. 

 

This made the emptiness lessen. 

 

“Mostly, I thought of you,” he confessed. 

 

“Me?”

 

“I know... that’s probably not something you want to hear when all of that was happ—”

 

Katara drew her head back. “What about me?” 

 

“Everything. My favorite things.” Zuko swept hair away from her face, fingers wandering delicately down her cheek. 

 

Three days he’d had to reacquaint himself with her; three days wasted. He could hardly focus on anything but her eyes, her lips, her smart words. In the mornings, she was vulnerable and silly. In the evenings, she was sharp and constantly sassing him, keeping him up on his toes at every turn. A simple conversation entertained him for hours, as did their heated debates when Zuko mentioned new policies or his Council.

 

“You’re a brilliant woman, Katara.” 

 

“I am.” 

 

He felt her blush more than he saw it in the dim light of the morning, ducking his head to kiss the color when it rose to her cheeks. Tui and La, how he lived for these moments: the happy calm, the relaxed sigh that put her closer to him. Her toes curled on the back of his calves.

 

“What if I came back?” 

 

“To the Fire Nation?” 

 

“To my position on your Council. I’ve been thinking about it.” Katara slid her hand over his hip, drumming on his lower back. His shirt was slightly damp with the sweat collecting on his skin, the temperature beneath her blankets something akin to the sun. She curled her fingers in it anyway, a chill creeping up his back as she cooled the liquid. 

 

“Magic water. Thank you.” 

 

“Mm,” she laughed, massaging him now. “Why did you say you were wrong? Your first night here, you said you were wrong about us.” 

 

Always right back to the point; so like her. Zuko inhaled, holding the air his lungs while he thought. The answer wasn’t difficult to find, but articulating it proved frustrating. 

 

“I- I was scared.” 

 

“You were scared? Zuko, the fugitive who broke into the Boiling Rock? Zuko, the prince who took a bolt of lightning to the chest?”

 

His mouth twisted with a wry grin. “I was terrified then, too.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Her hand moved to rest over the scar, a contemplative mood consuming them. Zuko shirked the weight, rolling onto his back and taking Katara with him. Sure, it was more obvious how she effected him, how his body responded to her fever and her proximity. Her hips bore down with just enough pressure to make him ache, shifted with her discovery, just enough interest in darkening blue eyes that he had to look away. 

 

And _breathe._

 

His thoughts under control, Zuko slid his hands over the curve of her ass, wandering up her back. He spent time counting her ribs, gathering his thoughts as he did. She shivered, another movement that made him gasp. He wrapped her hair in his fist, allowing his smile to spread, even if it contained notes of sadness. 

 

“I knew how deeply you could wound me.” 

 

“I wouldn’t.” Katara furrowed her brow in confusion. “What do you—”

 

“Rescuing your dad, protecting you; I did it without thinking, and I wish to all the gods I’d done the same with you, but I was seventeen. My country was falling apart.” Before he lost his nerve, he blurted everything, laid his heart out for her to see. “I’m madly in love with you, Katara. That doesn’t mean I’m enough for you.” 

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Yes…?” 

 

Her hands slapped his chest in a fit. “Did you make up all those reasons, then?” Katara shoved off of him, moving to the edge of the bed. “The stiff rules I’d hate, the regulations I’d need to follow, a cultural climate so different than the South; I saw none of that as an Ambassador on your Council!”

 

“Katara. Listen, I-” He tried to follow her, but she left him, donning a robe. Her scowl pinned him in a tangle of sheets. “I _was_ worried. About all of those things. You didn’t—” 

 

“You made a decision for me, Zuko. You decided, for me, that you weren’t enough and you pushed me away. What in Agni’s name does that mean?”

 

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

 

“Yes, you do. Tell me.”  

 

He rubbed the back of his neck, then grabbed his collar and tugged at it. “I— _gods_.” All the speeches he’d given throughout his years in leadership and the one time he needed the best of his grasp on language, his tongue failed him. He looked stupid; he knew it. Maybe, he was stupid. Letting her go was right up among the dumbest of his decisions.

 

“I’ve failed everyone I know,” Zuko said, bracing himself on his hands as he sat up in bed. “My mother, my father, my sister, my uncle, strangers and each of my friends. Most have forgiven me. Some, I’ll never change how they see me.”  He thought of Song, of Jin; he thought of Katara and how she cried beneath Ba Sing Se. “I don’t want to reach a point in our relationship when you realize I’ve failed too much. I can’t.” 

 

“Oh, Zuko.” 

 

The bed creaked when she returned, perched on her knees beside him. Katara took his face in both hands, greeting him with a tender smile when he could be coaxed to look up. 

 

Her thumb traced his bottom lip, a ghost of a feather over the flesh. 

 

“I love you too much to ever think that.” 

 

The tiniest gasp left him, surprised and innocent. She captured it. 

 

To warm lips and a softer tongue, he gave himself up. All of his secrets, all of his worries, Katara owned them, swallowed them as she swallowed the breath rushing from his lungs. How long had he wanted this? Years, maybe more. It was a common thing to imagine the flavor of her mouth, the feel of her humming into the kiss, a vibration he drank up. 

 

Katara moved to straddle his lap, a firm push sending him down on the bed. Zuko welcomed the advance with fingers digging into her hips, squeezing the pliant flesh before dragging his nails up her back. 

 

Was this it?

 

“Kiss me.” 

 

She ignored him to tug at the robe’s sash. It fell from her shoulders, a pool of red silk around her hips. She tossed it, while he stared in complete awe of the goddess within his grasp. His to touch; his to kiss. He memorized as much as he could with a longing gaze, then began a new study with his hands.

 

“Katara, please.” 

 

She crashed down on top of him, a moan meeting the kiss and a shower of hair spilling around them. Sweet, like peaches or coconuts. It was intoxicating. He wrapped his arms around her waist entirely, met a slow roll of his hips with one of his own, groaning.  

 

Was this the surrender he wanted?

 

The harder she kissed him, the more skin she mapped with her lips and her tongue, the closer he came to losing his mind and soul to her whims, the less Zuko thought of _her_ surrender. 

 

He sank his fingers into her hair and let her consume him.

 

This was his. 

* * *

 

She felt heavy. 

 

Warm. 

 

Too happy. 

 

Katara refused to overthink it, occupying her mind with the shapes she drew on Zuko’s back. She was heavy because his weight pinned to the bed. She was warm because his chest was as naked as hers, sweaty skin and sticky mess between them. She was happy because of him. 

 

And for the time being, her emotions matched his. 

 

Relatively still and entirely satiated — she assumed, at least, considering Zuko hadn’t moved much since growling into her neck ten minutes ago — he lay peacefully with his head on her chest. His shirt was lost somewhere in the middle of their kiss. His pants had stayed on, only unbuttoned and shoved halfway down his hips in the frenzy to reach their end.

 

They’d hardly made it that far, coming undone from friction alone. Katara resisted the urge to roll upwards, willed away the desire coiled tight in her belly.

 

“We can take a bath,” Zuko suggested, catching her by surprise. His breath had been so even, she thought surely he would sleep ‘til lunch. 

 

Moving her hands to his silky, black hair, she kissed the crown of his head. “I’d like that.” 

 

He slid from her arms with a tired sigh, a lazy motion putting him on his feet by the bed. Katara watched him strip from his pants and fill the bath, eyes wandering over the lithe forms made by his body. She’d admired him before, all the lean muscles that shaped his torso, the cut of his hips and strong thighs. Perhaps she felt more possessive now, having had a taste of him. 

 

If that made her nervous, her need to claim him, Zuko allowed little time to fret over it. Stepping out of his pants completely, he scooped her from the sheets and set her in the water, letting out a breath that shrouding them in steam when he climbed in behind her. 

 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he assured her. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

 

Katara lay her head on his shoulder, guiding his hands to her belly. “If I want it to?” 

 

“Tell me what the meaning is.” 

 

“I’m sailing back with you when _tatkresiwok_ is through.” The butterflies in her stomach fluttered away with that, her claim out in the open. “A wolf bound to a dragon? Taking the Fire Nation by storm? What do you think, Zuko?” 

 

His lips brushed her shoulder. “I think the dragon is already yours.”

 

A bright laugh burst from her. A kiss followed the sound along her jaw, down the column of her throat until she tilted her head to accommodate him. Smiling, Katara moved his hands lower, down between her legs. When he obeyed, she gave him another, quieter sound to chase. 

 

“It seems we’ve found our place.” 

* * *

 

Most of their time went by innocently. 

 

As with _yūhi,_ the fever came and went in waves, leaving her clear-headed at moments, then weak and needy without warning. At its worst, with the moon high above them, Zuko lay her out on the bed and kissed up her thighs, licked between her legs. Every night saw the symptoms worsen, the wolf in her blood tearing through what was human.

 

By morning, the fever would lessen. He’d curl around her as the sun crept over the horizon, kissing her tired body through the aches and the pain. A bath was drawn to wash the sweat and slick away. Breakfast was made. They ate in comfortable silence, her energy picking up as the day crawled along. 

 

To pass the long afternoons, Zuko told her stories from council meetings and visits with Uncle in the Earth Kingdom. Katara read aloud to him, creating different voices for each new character her book introduced. They dashed into the snow, throwing fistfuls at one another and shrieking like wildmen. 

 

Sopping wet and locked inside again, Zuko kept her happy. Drying himself and her, he occupied them with new tea blends, letting her critique each one while dinner simmered in the hearth. He stoked the fire while she ate, heating the room to a toasty degree. With night falling, she’d appreciate it, being able to shed her clothes as she pleased, plus, she enjoyed leaving him mildly inconvenienced. 

 

Much to his relief, she sat on her heels across from him, warmed by the hearth and wrapped in one of his tunics. Her hair was down and damp, wetting her chest. If she moved or tossed her head, the drug of her scent reached him, but the woodsmoke and stew did enough to hide the way her body called to him.

 

Washing away his private musings with a sip of wine, Zuko smirked at the sound of Katara shuffling their playing cards. 

 

“Do you think your odds of winning increase each round, waterbender?” 

 

“Oh, of course not.” Naturally, she met him with a challenge in her eyes, a brow arched despite having lost eight times already. “I think you’ll tire of the game and that’ll be my victory. Even the best make mistakes when they’re bored.”

 

“I will do no such thing.”

 

“Too noble to admit you’re cheating?” 

 

Zuko growled into his wine glass. “Too stubborn to admit you’re terrible?” 

 

“Is that anyway to speak to a lady, my King?” 

 

“It’s the way a lord speaks to a lady.” He raised a single finger, taking another drink. “There is a distinction between myself and kings.” 

 

She feigned shock, a hand over her heart. “And what is that?” 

 

“I don’t ride about on a bear.” 

 

“No, but you do have a dragon.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Such a cute dragon.” 

 

“Shall I tell Druk you find him cute? He’ll hunt you down if he knows such a thing.” 

 

“No, no, that won’t do. I’d hate to wound the precious thing.” Katara passed out their cards and left the draw pile in the middle for them. She tapped the top, allowing him the first turn, her smile; demure. “My Lord.” 

 

“Agni. Insatiable, aren’t you?” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Zuko set his wine glass aside and replaced it with his designated ten cards. It took a moment for him to arrange the cards to his liking — took him _longer_ with his attempt to annoy her, unnecessarily stalling — then he lay a card down. “Look at that, I’m already ahead.” 

 

Katara glanced at him, then his play, opening her hands up to study her luck. Her brows  furrowed deeply.

 

“What is it?” He hoped she didn’t notice the immediate concern in his tone, but it was ever present.  The longer Katara delayed, the worse her symptoms became, but Zuko refused to push her. They were learning this as a couple, moving at their own, unique pace. 

 

She caught onto him, however, and sighed loudly.

 

“I only thought of way to make the game more interesting.” Her move was much quicker than his, slapping the card down and drawing her next. “Something to up the ante.” 

 

“And what would that be?”

 

A shrug of her shoulder had him suspicious. Zuko stared at her, at the firelight captured in the gold trim on her tunic. Her fingers moved to it, plucking at the shimmering silk. He scowled at his cards.

 

“We should stick to the rules, Katara.” 

 

“Are you sure? I am insatiable, after all.” 

 

“You have a fever,” he stated, nodding at the wine glass beside her leg. “And alcohol.”

 

“Untouched,” she protested, “and I’m entirely present right now. In fact, I’m the most level-headed I have been this entire time.” Her gaze flicked away, then she added, “You’ve helped quite a lot with _tatkresiwok_ ’s many demands today.” 

 

It was his turn to blush.

 

More skin had been exposed by her toying with the tunic, but it was the slope of her collarbone that had his attention. He’d mark her there, if she let him, somewhere the world could see if Katara desired showing off. Then he’d kiss the pain away, lick up her neck until content sounds filled his head. He felt her pulse racing beneath his tongue, her hands wrapped up in the blanket of his hair. He imagined her saying his name when her body welcomed his. 

 

Zuko struggled for a breath. “Is this your trick to win?” 

 

Katara shook her head. 

 

“I’ve been difficult. You’ve been so patient.” 

 

“That doesn’t matter. I can be patient longer, keep buying you time with everything but.” 

 

“You love me, don’t you?” 

 

He held her gaze, praying she see nothing but the truth.

 

“I do.”

 

With tortured slowness, Katara open the robe fully and pushed it from her shoulders. It fell into the crook of her elbows, a pool of gossamer red. Zuko watched her withdraw her arms from the sleeves, fingers trembling as she untangled the sash. Her eyes were wide as she moved into his lap, her expression confident and calm as she untied his pants. 

 

Hesitantly, delicately, he held her waist, then moved his hands up to her ribs.

 

“I love you,” he said.

 

Katara kissed him, lifting up and sinking down again. She moaned in response to him, the sweetest sound she could ever give. 

* * *

 

He was far gentler than she expected.

 

It wasn’t that she needed to ease into being with him; other men had filled her men. But, with as cruel as she’d been, taking and taking and hardly giving anything back to him, Katara predicted it’d be over quick, a rough, hard rut until they both had what they needed.

 

The admiration in his touch stole right into her heart. The consideration he held for her burrowed into her soul. 

 

From the hearth to the bed to their ultimate end, Katara refused to move from her belly, savoring the feel of  Zuko sweaty and slumped with his face in the back of her neck. His breath was ragged, but his hands never strayed from soft and affectionate.

 

“Another bath?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the mark on her shoulder blade. 

 

It stung, but Katara didn’t complain. She was his, permanently. She’d wear it with pride, let it heal on its own. 

 

“I’d enjoy that,” she answered, turning her head to find his lips. “Surely you remember how much fun we can have in the water.” 

 

Zuko winked as he left the bed. “I have some recollection, yes.” 

 

His laugh was so joyous, Katara couldn’t help but join him, a giddy swarm of butterflies filing her stomach. He loved her. It was obvious. 

 

Why had it taken so long to let him?

* * *

 

Two weeks later, the full moon a distant memory, the pair emerged from the small home; a couple.

 

A sled awaited them, left by Sokka or Hakoda. Zuko didn’t care which. His only concern was for the woman to his left, the woman stealing glances in his direction and reaching back to touch the freshly-healed mark he left. 

 

Smiling, he tugged her closer, squeezing her hip. With the hand that was free, he felt for the mark she’d given him, placed just below his left pectoral. It was fitting, the same side as his heart, inches from the lightning’s scar. 

 

“We’ll tell your father,” Zuko said, helping her up into the sled. 

 

“You will tell my father.” 

 

He gawked at her, which made her laugh, but didn't waver.

 

“Fine, I’ll tell your father,” he conceded, dreading the entire conversation despite Hakoda's inviting him. “You will pack your things” 

 

Katara nodded in satisfaction, patting the seat. Zuko climbed up beside her, collecting the reins. A single snap and the reindeer took off, setting a brisk pace for the heart of the city. 

 

“I look forward to working with you, Ambassador.” 

 

She wrapped her arms around one of his, laying her head on his shoulder. “I love you too, Zuko.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you know me well enough, you'll catch some familiar words/people in the story... I'm not ashamed to admit the words are moonlighting as URLs. If you know me really well, you'll catch the cameo of that one OC. *eyes emoji*


End file.
